Christmas
by skyeward
Summary: Jack's alone on Christmas, and it wouldn't matter if somebody hadn't made the stupid holiday matter to her. (Rated for swearing. No prompt, written because somebody had to mess with my feels on Tumblr. I fixed it.)


"Another one."

A tattooed hand lifted in a vague gesture to the bartender. Her voice didn't slur at all, despite the nearly staggeringly high number of glasses stacked to one side - she'd taken to arranging them into patterns after a while, only to abruptly switch back to spartan stacks after one pattern came a little too close to what she was trying not to think about.

Another glass plunked down in front of her, and she stared blearily at it for a second before gulping half the weirdly blue contents in one go. The hands on the bar hadn't sported nail polish before…must've changed bartenders at some point.

"Alone for Christmas, huh?"

Black-limned brown eyes rolled up to the chatty woman behind the bar before narrowing dangerously. Clearly she should've gone to the turian bartender. _He _probably didn't know what Christmas was or what spending it alone meant…and probably wouldn't care if he did.

"Fuck off."

It wasn't as if Christmas _used_ to matter to her. She'd grown up with only the vaguest ideas about the holiday, had never associated it with home or family or…well, much of anything really. It was just another day in hell, with a bit of a seemingly-pointless twist on it. She'd basically learned the traditions right along with the nonhuman crew of the SR-2, but even then it hadn't meant much until…

Her head dropped onto the bar and she groaned. Until Miranda.

"Fucking bitch."

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. A glance up at the woman behind the bar showed a distinctly frosty expression…it was time to go.

She downed the last of her drink and pushed off of the bar unsteadily, digging through her pockets for a credit chit. Never keep all your money in one place…good advice, although she can't remember where she learned it. She paid the tab and made her way slowly and carefully out of the bar, keeping her back straight and her gait steady. Alcohol didn't usually affect her ability to kill people, but it was easier not to look like a target than to fight off assholes all the way to the transit depo.

She poured herself into a cab with another sigh.

"Blood alcohol level in excess of legal limits. Manual drive disabled. Please state a destination."

"Fuck, um…" She fumbled in her pockets; she'd completely forgotten the name of the hotel.

"Please refrain from profanity when addressing taxi VIs. Please state a destination."

"Fuck you," she grumbled in response before finally locating the card she'd been hunting for, "Baliza Hotel."

"Please refrain from profanity when addressing taxi VIs. Destination found: Baliza Hotel. Driving. Please fasten seatbelts."

She barely managed to hold back more profanity in response - it was only her natural reaction to being told not to swear. But the VI's disapproving voice was more irritating than not swearing was, so she just reclined against the worn-out leather seat and waited out the fifteen-minute drive in silence.

"Now arriving at: Baliza Hotel. Please be sure to gather all personal articles before exiting the vehicle. Thank you and have a pleasant night."

She practically rolled out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk. The booze was catching up to her in a big way, and she was glad she'd picked a fairly swanky hotel; less chance of getting attacked as she staggered unsteadily through the lobby towards the elevators.

"Jack."

She stopped dead in her tracks…then shook her head and kept walking. If she told herself it was just the booze playing tricks on her, if she didn't turn around to look for the flash of white, maybe that would make it not true and she could just go on drinking and feeling sorry for herself for a while longer. Just the same, she forced herself to slow down and walk as if she weren't three sheets and then some.

She slapped her room key against the sensor and the elevator opened obediently. Nobody joined her, and soon enough the doors slid shut and she went hurtling into the air towards the tiny room that was hers while she hung around here, trying to figure out her next step. She hadn't even expected to survive this long, and in fact it felt a bit like a punishment that she had. She was utterly at loose ends now, with Shepard languishing in an Alliance prison and the crew largely disbanded. They'd offered her a place at some academy, but teaching, and for the Alliance no less…just didn't seem like her. _Nothing_ seemed like her, anymore. She'd lost - pushed away - the only thing she'd cared about in a very long time, and she didn't want to teach, didn't want to eat or sleep. She just wanted to forget, and maybe to go jump off a cliff somewhere.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the glowing orange numbers on the other side of the bed. 23:59 it said, conveniently configured to display the time according to 24-hour human standards. She watched, numb, as it silently clicked over: 00:00.

Something moved in the doorway. She'd forgotten to shut the old-fashioned swinging door behind her, and a familiar form stood silhouetted there. There was silence for a moment before an equally familiar voice, as lush and distinctive as the body that produced it, echoed in the small space.

"Merry Christmas, Jack."


End file.
